


I Have No Idea! It's A MYSTERY!

by Artemis_The_Artist



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: :), Alternate Universe, Blood, Comfort, Domestic Bliss, Existentialism, Extended sounds of brutal pipe murder, Fluff, Husbands, I haven't seen it, Idiots in Love, It's not fun, M/M, Martin and Jon loving each other, Murder, Mystery, No beta we die like archival assistants, Self-Indulgent, The Shoggoths (Cthulhu Mythos), Vampire Martin, all of these chapters will be single drafts, alternate universe - uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhh?, anniversary dinner, anniversary planning, blood tw, but i can't write them for shit, but there won't be any explanation, but with no real plot, definitely not me projecting, exhaustion/comfort, i don't have the time to outline then write multiple drafts, i love mysteries with conclusions that make sense, if you're like me and you like satisfying conclusions to stories then this isn't for you, implied stalking?, inspiration from wandavision, it's just me being so indulgent so what do you expect, jon accidentally eats plastic, jon and martin are husbands, jon has a fear of dogs, jon overworking himself, jon stays up late being a Workaholic(TM) and martin cares for him anyway, kind of, martin being a caretaker, martin is basically a housewife and I love him for it <3, martin pampering jon, more tags to be added as i continue, my friend gave me the idea, nonsexual asphyxiation, okay so it's turning into less of a sitcom and more of fluff with horror elements, references to jon falling off of a fence, reminicing about how they fell in love, seriously, so if stuff doesn't make sense, sorry - Freeform, specifically in chapter 4, there's gonna be continuity, there's so much domestic bliss holy shit, they're husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29933130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_The_Artist/pseuds/Artemis_The_Artist
Summary: (Title from MAG 180)Jon and Martin are soft husbands in local suburbia. Very nice fluff.Totally normal.No horror shenanigans going on here. Why would you even suggest that? :)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 9





	1. Workaholic

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't read the tags, there's gonna be mysterious and freaky shit, but never any real explanation or satisfying conclusion. Horror just pops up and then vanishes, with no real explanation.

Martin grinned down at the dinner table. Martin had just made pasta and roasted chicken. And all it took was two burnt chickens.

Okay, to be fair, he wasn’t a bad cook, he was just nervous today. It was the week of their anniversary, and Martin wanted to spoil Jon right away. He couldn’t help it! He was a nurturer, and it was just… so rewarding to see Jon finally relax and melt into hugs.. Mmmmm… He couldn’t help but smile at that thought.

Martin took off the strawberry-patterned apron, folding it as he called, “JON! SUPPER!” Silence. Huh. Weird. Jon usually answered right away. “JON?”

Martin frowned. What the heck is that man doing?

Martin began his march up the stairs to Jon’s home office. “Jon,” he pushed the door open, “Love, you better not still be working--”

Face in his arm, Jon slept with the computer open. Martin’s heart melted. “Jon…”

A few steps forward and a hand on his shoulder caused Jon to jump up. “I’M AWAKE!”

“Love, sweetie…” Martin started rubbing Jon’s shoulders, causing the other man to start melting. He couldn’t help but smirk. “It’s supper time, and you’re clearly overworked.

“Mmmmm in a bit.” And cue more typing.

Now that just would not do. “Jon?”  
  
“Mmm?”

“Have you saved what you’re working on, if you need to?”

“I…” Jon clicked and typed a bit. “Have now.”

“Perfect.” Martin grabbed Jon by the sides and threw him over Martin’s shoulder, despite lots of protesting. “You’re being pampered and that’s that.”

* * *

Martin felt himself waking through grogginess. Whyyyyyyy? Martin cracked an eye open and saw the clock. 3:08 AM. Damnit.

All he wanted was to go back to sleep. Ah well, at least he had a lovely little husband to curl around to sleep. Martin turned onto his side and put his arm around--

Nothing. Jon wasn’t there. Bathroom, maybe?

Martin sat up and wiped one of his eyes, yawning. The bathroom door didn’t have any light under it. Okay… Not weird, not weird, Martin was definitely not freaking out nope. It was just late and his emotions were a little wonky. That was normal.

Surely.

Martin found himself wandering through their house, looking for his husband/occasional body pillow. “Jon?”

When Martin finally noticed the light pooling out from under the door to Jon’s office, he shouldn’t have felt as surprised as he did. “What the… fuck, jon…?” he asked himself.

Martin squinted. The door opened under his hand. He cracked one eye open and found his husband hunched over the work computer, still in his pajamas. “Jon. It’s 3 in the morning.”

“3:15 in the morning. I am aware.”

“Jon.”  
  
“I’m working.”

“ _Jon._ ”

“The deadline is Friday, Mahtin.” Friday was their anniversary. “I have to get this done.”

“Did you save it?”

A click or two. “Have now.”

“Good.” Martin shut off the light, walked over, and picked up Jon bridal style. “Work in the morning. We’re going back to bed.”

“Mahtin, I can’t--”

“You won’t get anything done while you’re exhausted.”

Jon huffed. “Fine.”

Martin felt a grin cross his face. Back to bed they went, and Martin made sure to hug Jon tight. Mmmmm… They fell asleep together.

* * *

There were only two days before their anniversary and Martin had needed to forcibly drag Jon away from his computer to get him to eat lunch.

Then he found Jon in the closet, typing.

Then typing on his phone while eating dinner.

Not. Fair.

And he was refusing to come to bed at 9 in the evening, because apparently this project was more important than sleep.

**Ugh**.

Martin went to sleep hugging Jon’s pillow.

* * *

Martin sat alone at the dinner table on Thursday night.

He had worked so hard on this supper, a wonderful pork roast, and Jon was just… working… in his office.

_With the door locked_.

Martin rested his cheek in the palm of his hand.

Why did he have to fall in love with such a workaholic? It wasn’t fair.

* * *

Friday.

Their anniversary.

Jon had left for the office.

Martin was all alone.

All day.

It wasn’t fair.

Martin had worn the fluffy yellow sweater Jon loved so much, and Jon had just left.

* * *

Jon was borderline giddy tonight. He was so excited to finally show Martin what he’d been planning for a week: First, they’d go to an art museum. Then, they’d visit a cozy little cafe he knew Martin would love, on _poetry night_ no less. Of course, he’d never ask Martin to try to overcome his anxiety and _read_ anything, but he knew how much Martin loved poetry. And finally, they’d end the evening star gazing.

Jon swung the door open, a grin spread across his face. “Mahtin!”

  
He heard something crash and Martin squeak. “JON!”

Jon blinked from where he was in the doorway. “Ah, sorry!” Jon hurried over to help pick up the broken plate.

“ _Jon_ .” Martin was holding his chest, panting. “ _What the hell?_ ”

“Sorry.” Jon stood up, still grinning. “I’m just… I was really excited.”

Martin frowned at him. Why was he frowning???? “Eager to get more work done?”

It took several seconds for Jon to realize what was going on. “Oh, right. That. Sorry. I, uh… Actually. I was… Setting up a date. For us. If…” Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “If you wouldn’t… mind?”

A few more seconds. “ _Pardon?_ ” Jon couldn’t tell if Martin was frowning or grinning. Maybe a bit of both?

“Well, I wanted to… surprise you? So… I pretended I was working.” Jon took a step forward. “Are you… mad?”

Martin started laughing.

Jon let out a single chuckle.

Martin pulled Jon into a tight hug. “I love you, you AWFUL man!”

Jon held onto Martin’s soft sweater… He loved that sweater, especially on Martin… “I love you, too…”

* * *

It was late, but that didn’t mind.

Jon had his arms around Martin from behind while Martin did the dishes. He was quite content. Jon oten offered to help, but for some reason Martin found it easier to do on his own, and Jon wanted Martin to be comfortable.

Besides… free hug time.

“I’m still sorry for making you worry, Mahtin.”

“Yeah, well, you overwork a lot, so it’s not a huge leap in logic.”

“I do not!” Jon pouted.

“Sure you don’t.”

“Mpf.” Jon sighed and squeezed a little. “I had a wonderful time.” A beat. “I love you.” Another beat.

A crash.

“Mahtin?” Jon pulled back--

There was something balck and slick from the sink wrapped around Martin’s throat and it was SQUEEZING and he was trying to pull it off but his face was going red--

“MAHTIN!” Jon tried to pull it off, but his nails slid right off, and suddenly more of those horrible slimy _tendrils(????)_ were coming out of the sink-- THE PIPES?! And they were around his throat and he couldn’t breathe oh god please no he didn’t want to die like this he didn’t want MAHTIN to die like this--

P̶l̴e̷a̴s̶e̶ ̵d̶o̴n̸'̶t̷ ̵l̴e̵t̴ ̶t̷h̵i̷s̷ ̵h̸a̸p̸p̴e̷n̷

P̸̣̺̔̇̓͂͝l̶͕͚̰̫͊͊é̶̱̜͘͜a̶͚͕̰͍̗̋̊̓͘͘s̸̝̀́̊̚ë̴̜̉̇͌ ̵͚̝̈̊j̶͎̉̏͝͝ú̴̼̟̄̽͘s̸̨̟̳̭͇̄̐̐̔t̸̙͇̟̤̂́̽̽ ̸̞͛̓͠l̸̺͖̆̔͘ë̶̳̬̈́t̵̙̃ ̸̻̗̤͒̈́̚̕̚ͅt̸̹̻̃̋͝h̵͉͆̊͠i̶͎͛̀̈s̶̥̅̀̂ ̵̥̈́͝b̶̛̬͍̻̐̑͘͘ẽ̷̼̟͓̖̇͋̚ ̷̫̭͊̓͐̂s̴̢̩̰̩͚̄̆̀͘ō̷͙̥̥m̷̧̲͈̭̎̇͋͒̕e̶̡̨̹̟͌̀ͅ ̶̞͍̬̈́̋h̸̠̺̺̲̄̓o̵̺̻̫̐͜͠r̴̖̣͖̈́̔̌r̵̢̧͇̍̑͂̕i̸͎̿̑ḇ̴̹͆̆̀̅͝l̴͇̄ę̷̹̜̓͝ ̵̛̼̯́̑̃͠n̶̗͑̋̎̈́͠i̷̥̜̊̈͌̊̓ġ̴͓͎̱̄̈h̷̜̭͎͙̝̏̑̌͠t̵͚̮̿̓̀͘m̴̬̺̠̽̆̔͂̌ã̷̬̝̼r̷͎͓̘̣̙̔̈́͝ẻ̸̡͍̥͘

T̴̗̠̮͔̒̚h̵͕̰̫̩̫̩̺̱͚̘̅̇̿̆̄͊̃̔̿͠i̷̧̹̫͕̬̮͛̊̓͐͆̓́̈͂͝s̶̡͓̪̲̤̎̌̂̆̔͗̓͝ ̵̛̛̠͇͆͗͌͌̆̊̉̾̏̓̿ͅć̷̛̙̙̗̥̥̺̜̪͈̻̲̅͒͗̿̆͛̋̒́̈́̾̏͜͠͝ͅa̸̛̹̥̝̜̘͌̿͗̓̐͒̂̈́́͐̏̕̚n̸̻̒̅̂̽̋͌͗̑̑͌̔̌̂̄͝͝'̷̨͔͌̂ṯ̵̨̯̉̓̃̆̒̋̇͗̉̽̒ ̶̢̛̰̥̰͍̦͎̞̗͔̯̬̓̋͛͒͊̍̈́͛̊́͘̚͜ͅͅb̸͖̬̓̏̈́̈́̈͒͋̓ė̸̛̘̜͎͌̍̈́́̒̒̔̊̓͊͠ ̵̧̬̙͓̬͓͉̪̠̺̘͇̓̉̿̑̇͑͑̂̈́̄̽̈́̕͘͘ḥ̷̡̡̞͈͉̹̯̘̣̤̾̇̈́̐̃͋̌̆̆̔͠͝a̸̛̬̱͎̣̼̞͍̙̜̮͇̅͛̓̅̚p̸̧͉̭͔̱̲͈̣͍͇̲͖̦͖̖͕͊̔͗̐̍̎̍́̓̕͝p̸̡͇̻̗̰̱̣͔̜̤̏̽ͅe̸̪̙̝̳̣͐͒̓̎̓͌̄̉̐̆͋n̴̬̼͖͊̄̒̈́̕͝į̸̧̛͕̲̮̦͎͎̾̏͘͠n̸̗̰̦̜̘͍͎̪̮͈̝̤̔̿̅g̷̺͖̯̩͈̦̳̯͍͈͓̦̠̐̚̕

T̸̨̧͙͚͖̩͈̫̪̱͖͍͇͓̲̮͚̠͎͚̝̣̿̋̊̈́͂͌̉͌̏̀̃̓͐̈́̅̓̐̄͊͊͗̇̆͝͝H̴̡̨̡̧̡̢̡̳͉̗͓̩̟̬̹͎̤̱̥͕̥̞̿͌̑̋̊͜Ḯ̴̧̺̫͔̙̗̰̰̗̖͕̗̮̻͇͚̹̟̘̝̻̙̞͍̫͎͎̋ͅS̴̨̛̛͈̙͚͉͎̫̲̪̗̖̼̟̯̥̖̼͓̰̭͍͍̖̝̩̐̈͑͊͂̽̒͐͐͌̒͌̅̅͘͘̚͜͜͠͝ ̵̧͇̲̯̹̺̖̯̺͇͚͈̬̻̜͕͔̞̤̣̠͍̀̉̌̃̉̑̎́̊͋̈́̄̑̓͊̇̒̉̎̈́͘͘̕̚͘͝͝ͅC̴̡̧̡̡̪̪̲̻̠̱̰̳̪͇̩͕̟̝̱̲͇̞̼͌͗̈̄͌̐̏̄̅͋̓̌̆͗̽̊̕͜͝Ấ̵̧̨̨̢̢̳̯̭͙͎̥̖̼̩̗͙̭̰̬̬͖̲̼̖͈͙͈̝̹̝̫̊̾͑̐̋̉̔͆̈́̋̀ͅŅ̶̨̧͚̩͔͈̼̰͈̮̪̬̰͓͇͚̼͉̲̼͉̟͕̰̻̗͉̇̌̾̎͂́̈'̴̢̨̹̮̘̥̫͖̹͇̹̯̜͎͎̩̐̄͑̓̈̈́̊̋̒̋̓̾̋͐̍͛̓̎̓͐̌͊̚̕͝T̵̛͕̪̲̖̥̻͎͉̱̝̫̺̲̈́̆̐̎̔͂̓͗̏̅̇̈́̈̾͐̾̏͊̋͘͘͘͝͝͝ ̴̢̡̖̬̼̟̲̘̟̰͈̻̙̤̼͈̭̤͈̺̺͚̺͙̳͆͌̑̐̏͆̓̔͋̎̀̓̆̚͘͜͝͝ͅͅB̵̨̨̨̫̦̖̮̪͚̭͕͍͎̲͙͍̩̠͇̲̟̼̤̱͎̮̰̳͙̩͐̏͗É̴͉̺̌͂̅͒̏̌͋̊͂̃̕̕͜͝͠͝ ̵̨̨̧̠͇̤͓̙͎̜̲̫̟̼͑̈̽̏̏͊̆̉̆̅̈̌͘͘͘ͅḨ̷̮͕̰̖̘̣͖̗̙̹͓̤̲̕A̵̡̢̘̳̭̭̣̻̺͚̰̯̫͛̆͑͐̋̀̈́͗͐̓̄̈̈́́͗̕̚̚͠͝P̷͙̱̪͔̐̈́̓̈̉P̵̢̙͈͕̱͓̗̪̦͎̗̠͖͔̻̼̟̲̖̩͚̦̣̼̟̋͗́͗͆̆̐̌̌͒̇̽̈́̚͝ͅͅͅË̸̩̯̘̞̹̫̤́̎̍̿͗̊̀͑͜Ņ̶̧̧̼͉͇̮̥̰͖̙̗̻̳̣͖͓̭̋̈́̽̊̕͜͜͜͜ͅI̶̧̧̢͔̲̫͚͍̤̬̱͙̗̤̝̪͚̰̤̞̮̞̦̿͋͊̓̉́̄̃̈́̀̌̔͗̈͘͝ͅͅN̸̡̘͎͎̠̠͙̉̽͐͊̿̏̏̌͌͛͊͆̃͋͛̕G̶̢̧̢̢̢͓͖̼̼͎̪̪͔̣̮̙̱͚͍̜̤̳͓̪͉͍̬̤̟͇̈́̍̑͊͊̔̄̈́̄͒̈̀̋͌̿̉̈́̓̔̋͂͋̈́͂̑̓͂̈̕͜͝͝͝

W̷̞̣͚̙͎̰̭̱̲͈̯̼͌̾̊̉͊̔͗̽͋̈́̇͛̓͑͗̊͘H̵̺͎͙͎̼͍̲̥̰͚͙̟̑̒̉͋̋̿͑͌̈́͐̈́̒͘A̷̛͕̞̞̤͈̗͉̩̱̞̪̗̥̫̱͇̫̰̍̉̿̀̄̿͊͋̾̈́̑̏̏̈́͗̎̌͂̍̈̉̐̂͌̈́̅̇̇̑̅͒͐̂͆̉͐̕͠͠Ţ̵̡̨̛̺̟̲̗͇̩͉̙̲̤̹̖̦̯̫̫̹̱͚̗̼͕͎̫̻̰͕̫̮̯͖̘̪̭̮̄̔̏̾̌̇̈́͋̋̉̆̍́͂̆̔̆̍͊͊̋̓́͑͗͆̂̇͒̓̒̽̿̑̉͜͝͝͠͝͝͠ͅ

̶̪̰̈́͑͒̄̉̔̓͊͐̈́̓̒͋͒͋̑͊̂̈́̈́͒̚̕͘͠

̶̢̧̨̨̨̨̼̦̤͕̙̰̦̩̤̻̺̥͎̞̞͖͚̝͙̻̳̠̲̭̲̤͚̦̪̻̘̪͍͍̮̳́͐͑́͑̃̓͊͆̈́͆͌͗̿Ï̴̧̧̡̛̛̛̟̲̹͙͖͖̺̪̣̘̤̺͖̫̱̜͎̣̩̗̟̺̗̹̖͕͇̬͙̞̥̣͔̳̏̊̾̃̔͋̂̏̎̒̆͋̄̇̐̆͂̾͛́̓͌̑́̈̈̄̐̈́͊̎̊͘̕̕͠͝͝S̸̡̨̨̱͎̞̪̬̤͖̱̥̳̩̰̜̦͉̦͚͓̖͔̻̲̤̞͇̫̈́̑́̏͒͛̃̏͋͘͘̚̕ͅͅͅ

̴̨̺̆̈́͆̽̾̿̊͛̀̕

̸̢̨̛̮͎̞̼̯̬̠͚̻̺̥̮̙̤̝͎͌̈́̓͌͊͂̓͐́̆̍͛͐̏̑͗̈͜Ḥ̸̡̲̖̎͊̄̒̏͆͗̉̏̒͗̀͗̿̆̏̓̽̈͑̇͌̍̇͆́̉͆͒͌͗̽̕̕͜͝ͅA̴̢̨͈͓̥̜͎̬̜͕͚͔̙͍̺̣͕̬̥͍̯̣̱̦͔̓̆͑͌̑̄̈́̆̌̆͐͂͑͛͆̿̍̎̾̅̋̈̏̐̅̐̒̈́͐͆̾̍͑̆̓̕͘͝͝ͅP̵̥͓̲͉̖̟͓̌̉́̔̆̾̉̈͂͋̇̈̓̃̂̊̒̔̂̈́͑͋̚̕͜͝͝P̴̨̡̣̫̮̱̬̝̹̖͇̭̲͇̙̥͍͇̗̩̰̝̻͌̋̓̅́̊̎̆̋͗͋̋̑̑̑͘͘͜͜ͅE̸̛͙̙̩̹̦̯̺͙̻̪͙̙̻̼͖̥͔͎̩̺̘̹̰͔̝͔͔͕̫̼̣͈͉̖̱̩̊̅̀͑̿̄͒͒͑̋̊̄̿̿̈́̎̾͑̀̎̅͆̾͘̕͜͝͠͝N̴̢̧̡̙̝̞͖̦̠̝͉̰̥̫̼̞̣̻̼͙͙͇͖̝̗̼͙̗̹̯̞̪͚̭̭̭̋̌̎̓͗̉̏͆̚͝ͅḮ̷̧̨̛͖̻̝̳̹̲͙̳̜͍̳͓͙̼͎͎̠̪̳̉͛̌̊̐̀̔̇̇͗͂̔̋̇̊͗̉̌̌̓͆̑̐͑̌̇̿͗̚̚͝͠ͅN̸̢̡̩̲̦̮͇͉̮̲̝̠̼̺̣̰͓̲͔̘̯̗͙̗̘̰̮̜͓̟̹̥̹͓̫̘̼̮̑̉G̸̨̧̧̧͔̘̮̭̞̩͍̠̦̤̯̙̤̞̺̱͖͚̞̪͍͖̗̜̟͖̪̀̅͊̒͐̅̉͐̉͛̿̕͘̕͘͘̚͜ͅ

̴̢͍͕̆̈̿̾̔̂̋͌͋̈́͐͘͘̕͝͝

̷̡̢͙̦̙̮͓͙̥̗̯̪̺̻͇̺͇̙̫̺̟̼̺̋̀͜ͅͅT̴̢̛̠̤̘͔̯̭̙̦͉̟̝̙͉̫͍͍̙͍͇͓̲̱̞̻̓͊͒́̽̐̆͋́̑̀͌̂̀͊̒̔̈́̃͒̿̌̾̇̇͛̈́̐̏̊͆̇̍̒͘̚̕̚̚͘̚͝͠ͅƠ̴̢̨̧̛̩̘̲̼̬̬̖̱̗̳͓͓͌̌͌̂͑̄̒̓̋̋̊͆͐̽͗̆́͐̓͘ͅ

̴̬̘͚̠̤͈̹̏̍̓̽̒̒̾̐̃͗͒͆

̵̧͚̭͇̬̗̥̪̜̗̫̲̳͓̲̙̘̈̈̉̒̓̒͐͌̍̓͑͊̿̑̐̈̾͌͊̊̂̇͒̿͛͛̏̉̆̀̊͌͗̇̓͐͘͘̚͝͠͠͝M̴̨̠͇͕̺̹̮̱̻͕̣̠͚̘̼͈̮̪̝̼͒̒̈́͑̓̓̃̇̓̃͂̅͠͝ͅȄ̵̢͍͕̮͙̹͍̤̻̲͉̥̮̤̩̣͍̝̭̙͉̙̥̐͜

  
  
  
  


* * *

Martin woke up with Jon in his arms on Saturday morning, a smile on his face. He ran his hands along the scars around Jon’s neck. They’d each had similarly matching scars for years, Martin had long since forgotten where they’d come from, but it didn’t matter too much.

Martin let his eyes close again. He could sleep in today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Yeeeeaaaaaahhhh there's a "Shoggoths" tag for a reason :)


	2. Long Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin pampers Jon after a long day of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this, Jon is nonbinary and uses he/they pronouns. There’s a preference towards “he”, but the two will be used somewhat interchangeably. Also, I may or may not project some of my ADHD onto Jon? So… yeah. Speaking of nonbinary people (like myself), there is a character who uses xe/xem/xeir/xemself pronouns. This character fills an antagonistic role. I am not trying to demonize neopronouns. I made this character WEEEELLLL before making this fic, and I just got the ~vibe~ that xe would use those pronouns. I figured I should mention it to avoid accidentally creating any bad implications.
> 
> For reference: Jon is always asexual in all of my fics. Specifically, I’m sex repulsed so I project that onto him. I’m saying that because it won’t come up in the fic at all, because it won’t be relevant. I’m mentioning it because I know that deliberately excluding his asexuality while including new editions (like a nonbinary identity) can come across as acephobic. <3 Jon gets Ace Rights in all of my fics. It’s just generally not relevant, since I tend to avoid writing scenes with… any kind of sexual tension, preferably?
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Lots of blood. I don’t go into any descriptive detail, since I’m squeamish and cannot handle real gore. There is implied gore, but again no details. If the implications of Brutal Pipe Murder are a bit much and you, like me, skip any and all slaughter statements, you may wanna skip this chapter. That being said, I will be adding “***” just before it gets to the “fucky wucky” scene with the implied gore, so you can just skip that. And I’ll add it again after the fact, so you can get the post-horror domesticity.
> 
> I really do tend to ramble, don’t I?
> 
> Well, enjoy!

Look, Martin _already_ didn’t like today.

Martin always hated the days when Jon had to go into the office, because that meant he couldn’t drag Jon down to _actually eat lunch_. So he just had to hope that Jon would eat whatever Martin packed.

**_And this was Jon._ **

Martin knew Jon better than anyone, and he knew that the lunch he’d packed was almost certainly coming right back home. So, he always made a very large dinner.

And tonight was no exception.

So when Jon didn’t come home at 6, he was not happy.

By 7:30, Martin decided it was best to just eat his portions himself and put Jon’s in some plastic tubs to pack away into the fridge.

By 8, he was already in his pj’s, watching TV to pass the time, waiting, _longing_ , for his husband to return. (He was also _quite bitter_ about it.)

The door did finally open, at **11:30 at night** , and by then Martin had fallen asleep on the couch. It was the dragging of Jon’s feet that woke up Martin, at which point he realized the TV was still going. “Love?” Martin asked, clicking the TV off with his remote. “Jon, it’s almost midnight. Mind telling me why you were up so late?”

Then Martin got a good look at Jon: Bags under his eyes, ragged, his hair out of its partial bun, and his shirt was just slightly untucked in that way he knew meant Jon had such a long day he couldn't even handle wearing his tie anymore. And… Oh no. _Oh no_ , he had _the puppy dog look_.

“I-I’m sorry, Mahtin, I--” The door closed behind Jon and he sunk down a little. Jon held his briefcase in one trembling hand. _Oh, poor honey_. “Long night, I-- Working, and… I lost track of time, I’m so sorry--”

“Love, _stop_.” Martin got up from the couch. “Go change.”

Jon blinked at him. “What?” More of that puppy dog stare. Just how much had Jon been planning to apologize? “I… Are you… Angry?”

Martin sighed. “Yes.” He crossed his arms, raising one eyebrow at Jon’s opening mouth. “Don’t you dare apologize to me, _Jonathan Blackwood-Sims._ ” Martin crossed the difference between them. He took their hand into his own, letting himself admire the difference in size for a moment. “Love. Think you’ll be able to stand long enough for a shower?” With his other hand, he guided their briefcase down to the floor.

“Uh… I… No? But… I-I can sit, and I think I can make the walk.”

Christ, they looked so soft right now, staring at Martin with their gentle green eyes.

Martin placed the softest kiss onto his nose. “Right. Go take a shower and change. I’ll reheat dinner.” He ran a hand along Jon’s cheek. “And you _are_ eating dinner tonight.”

Jon nodded into his palm.

* * *

Martin finished resetting the table with Jon’s reheated dinner (and lunch, yes he was going to make Jon eat that, too) and some microwave ramen for himself, just in time to see Jon come down the stairs in fuzzy pj pants and one of _Martin’s_ sweaters. Did Martin just fall in love with him all over again? Probably.

Jon was rubbing one of his eyes with the sleeve and--Oh wow. How had Martin ever managed to marry such an adorable man? “Mmmmmthank you, love.” Jon trotted over and practically fell into a hug, which Martin gladly pulled him into. “I needed this.”

“I could tell,” Martin hummed. He started running his hand through their hair. “Boss ask you to work late again?”

Jon nodded. “Then I couldn’t stop working, and… suddenly it was 11…”

Martin sighed. He knew how stuck on a project Jon could get. “Right. Well, you’re home now, and lucky for us tomorrow’s Saturday, so you get to sleep in tomorrow.”

“Mmmm…”

Martin guided Jon to sit down, making sure to rub their shoulders. Was he exhausted? Yeah. Did he just want to go to sleep with his husband? Pretty much. Did doing this for them still bring him unimaginable amounts of joy? … _Yeah._ “Don’t forget to eat, love.”

Jon seemed to blink out of whatever train of thought he was stuck in. “Ah, right. Sorry.”

“No apologizing.” Martin sat down, pulling his chair as close to Jon’s as he could manage. “You’re doing fine, love.”

So, they ate the rest of their dinner in loving silence.

* * *

***

What was so wet…?

Martin felt something wet and warm under his hand. Wh…? “Love…?” Jon gave no response. He was probably still asleep.

Martin rolled onto his side and cracked an eye open. The clock read 3:04 AM. Definitely not the time to be worrying about anything… He rolled back over to see if jon was still in bed and… a lot of… red…

_no_ …

It wasn’t exactly easy to see in the dark, but… Martin lurched up to a sitting position.

It…

  
Jon…

There was _so much blood_. Martin covered his mouth in horror. What had happened to Jon?! His--

Martin looked up, eyes wide, body shaking, eyes welling with tears--

Who the hell _was_ that?!

Standing over Jon was someone-- It was hard to tell in the moonlight, but Martin was sure he’d never seen xem before. Xeir eyes… such a bright, **horrid** red. Xe stared down at the body.

Martin just sat there in the dark, paralyzed by shock and fear and grief and--

“They didn’t love me…”

_WHAT?!_

“Because of you.”

**_What the hell was xe saying?!_ **

Xe raised something that was dripping. A pipe? _Definitely a pipe_. Why couldn’t Martin move?! Why couldn't he run?! Scream?! Phone the police?! SOMETHING?!

“I took matters into my own hands. As for you.” Xe looked up, those horrid red eyes staring right into his soul.

Xe circled the bed and got closer.

Why couldn’t Martin move?! All he could do was sit there--

P̷̲̯͑̍̕ͅl̸̦̭͓͎͚̐e̴̢̘̘̊͛̂͆͠a̶̡̻̪͍̰̽̏͒͗s̵͉̫͖̅̓̋ę̶͖̈́̍ͅ ̴̩̂͐ͅd̸͙͕͈͇̅͛̑o̶̖̰̩̻̓̇̏͑n̷͎͕͔͆'̵̯͙̪̃ṫ̴̪̫̗̉̚͜ ̷̦͖͚̦̫͗͑l̵͕͙̩̏̀̑̉ë̷̤̹̝́̆͘t̷̠͒ ̴̲̘͈̍͗̄͜t̶͕͕̳̂̒h̵͓̗͋͌̏̋ȋ̸̙̗̔̿s̷̰͔̃̀̓̑ ̵̠̠͖̉̆́̔͑b̷͈̰̯̔̃̚͝ë̴̜́͌͋͌̕ ̵̨̱̼̼͛̇̅t̶̬̪̎̓̃̋h̸̢̡̘͉̑͐̈́̎̎e̴̗̗̲̞̽͒̈̒̚ ̷͔̖̌̐͜͜ȩ̷̞̞̳͉̽́͛͘ņ̴͓͇̗̟̐ḑ̸͔̭̩̱̿̆

  
  


I̴̧͓̹̟͖̪̎̂͑̒̅ͅ ̶͉̫͍̩̟͎̭̆d̸̗͊̋̑̈́̈́͆̉̕o̷͓̤͐̎̆̕͝n̶̛͍̥̲̻̣̠͐͋̿̌͑̆͜'̶̧̘͉̻͖̬̳̻̠̼̭̽͆̊t̷̢̙͇̲̝̞̗͎̜͚̕ͅ ̷̞̹̟͕͓̹͈̖͚̯̺̌̌͌̾̈͋w̶͈̣̆ͅả̸̧̢̢͔̘̞̘̦̳̻̈́͠n̵̢̖̗͔̓̊̽̇̀̀̈́͐͐͝ͅt̴̢̛̛̙̭̂̈́̄͐̈́͛̓ ̷͈̗̮͕̘͉̓͑̊̆̾͛̓́͠ṱ̸͕̮̱̾o̸̖̣͇̍̋̄̈͋͘͠ ̶̧̯̠͈̣́͐̾̂̊̌͘͠d̷̛̛̻̜͍̳͙̜͔̫̉̑͗̑̉̋̍̃į̴̯̦̮̤͕̻̯͒͛̎̋̆̌͑̎̅͝͝͠e̴̥͌̽.̸̤͍̺̌͛̆͗͋̑͂̽̉̕͝

  
  


Ý̷͍̗̠̥̱̜̖̼̮̫̤̮͉̝̼̞̭̳̣̺͕͔̫̽̓̆̏̉̉͠Ơ̷͎̖̲̭͍̜͕̖̜̩̣̖̲͙̯̱̣͇͕̠̫͋̍͋̎̑̋̂͋͐̇͆̇͋̋͠͝͝͝Ų̴̨̼̘͕͎̺̜͈͉͓̼͓̹̥̩͍̭̺͕͓̰̘̝̫̞̪̌͛̽̈́͋͌̿̈̑̋͂͌̆̕͝ ̶̦͎̱͉̯̯̲̙̿̐Ķ̶̡̟̭̺̳̟̱̯̫̻͔̲̥̤̦̯͎̗̺͎͇̒̎̒̈́̂̔͒͗͘͝͝Į̵̢͇̟̼̱͖̻͙̪̱̥̻̟̻̻͙͍̩̮̥̆̅̑͝Ḽ̸̤̙͙̯͖̹̤͙̬̖̲̼͔͔̦̪̝̤͙͔͙̹̠̮̘̾͊͊̓͘ͅL̶̨̳͕̰̜͉̜͉̬̗̳̞̪͍̙͖̹̽̋̓̍̐́͊͑͑̿͛E̵͖͍͙̙͎̜̳͒͐͛̋͋̏̿̋̕D̸̡̢͈͍͎̞̼̹̼͍̲͓͕͚̳̘̱͈̦̯͔̓̽̋͗̈̏̕̕͠ͅ ̴͇͉̈́̀͑̏̚H̵͖͚̪̦̗͓̟̝͓̻̲̟̭̰̳̩̗̥̾̉͑̓̓͠Ḯ̵̛̙̲̃̒̐̋̿̍̄͌̿͂̒̿̈̃̈́̕M̶̧̨̢͚̮̫̯̼̖̻̼̬͚͕̩͇̣̭͉͓̤̰͉̊̈̊̽͌̓̏̉͂͛̊̔̐̍̓̓̓͠ͅͅ!̴̲̞͚̲̜̙̹̖͕͕̈̽̈͒̎͂̇̅̀͊̆̇̀

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


P̵̧̡̛̼̫̭̫̜͔̼͂̑͋̏̽͑͑̊̄͌̾̿͂̀̈́͆̊̑̿̈̈́̊̃́͛̇̓̅̓̅͛͆̇̕̕͜͜͝͝l̷̡̧̡̧̨̹̗̮̜̮͉͉̦̱̙̙̟̲͓̯̱͑͋͑̄̂̑͊̾̉̿̀͐̀͐͂̍͌̓̈́̒͐̈́͆̄͗͌̅͌̕̚̚͜͝ͅͅͅę̵̧̢̨̛̠͕̘̹͈̹̳̠͎̖̜̫̬͍̤̮̗̘̯̞͙̠͍̎̂̈́̀͋͊̔̈͆̾̈͝ͅǎ̵̛̺͔̮̘̯͑͆͊̃̌̓̄̏̈́͊́̏́̈͑̒̌̏̌̚̕͝͠͠s̶̨̧̨̹̯̦̞̰͖̲̻͙͙̫̠̪̞̣̫͙̣͚̯̲̮̲̭̺͔͇͙̬̻̳̀̃̄̀͊͘͜͜͠ͅͅę̴̡͈̺̼̱͉̘̬̜̙̩͔͙̯̫͎͕̱̙̯̹̰̻͚̈͑̐̌̄͗̿̌̋̅͋̈́̀̾̏̀̄̓̈́̒̓̾̋͆̈́̚̚͠͝,̷̛̹͙̻̲̪̰̫̹̹̹̬̹̤̦̭̳͌̍̿̐̌͑̈́̍͊̀̉̌̾̂͂̏͑̾̈̂͘͘͘͝͠ ̴̢̢̡̧̻͇̮̤̼̮̦̬̣͎̰̲͉̪̭̯̠̦̳̠̲̪̙͓̜̟̬̤̟̝̤͓͋̐͒̔̎̽͛̈́̎͐̒͐̀̿̋̀͂̈͒̈̏̄̏̕͘̚̚̚̕͘͝I̵̢̡̡̗̼̜͔͙̯͈̤͇͔̘̭̞̪̥̤̰͈͇̹͔̹̜̬̱͎͎̫̭̟͎̳̰͇̤̺̍́̈͊̿̄͆̎̀̒̈̽̍̀̓̾̎́̑̒̅̀̎̋͊̔̅̚̚͜͠͝͝͝ ̴̧̱̘̖̜̰͍̠̬̱̳̲͓̣̪͉̗͇͖̱͙̟̤̏͑͐̆͗͗̎̏͋̉̕̚͜͜͝d̸͎̈́̔̓̉̾̓̈͊̋͌̀͆̿̏̔͛̕͝ơ̴̡̡̢̛̰̠̗̹̩̰͉̮̲̩̰̰̞̼̹̮̹̮̬͚̱̠͍̤̰͙͉̼͍͇͈̦̦͓̈́̃̿̄̒͊̽͒͗͛̂̓̈́̊̇̒̓̿̓̿̆͗̽͊̄̈͋͆͆̽̽̎̈̒͂̌̾̚̕̚͜ͅn̴̢̢̛͙̙̣̥̠͔̟̫͇̮̜̳̘̼̤̮͒̇̓͋̈́̈́̊̏̄̉͊̿̽̀́̀͋̋̂͒̄̇̈́̈́͊̌͌̍̇̅̍̂͛̇̋̇̒̔̚̚͜'̶̢̢̨̻̫̥͎̗̰̜̟͇̹̦̗̳̝͈̫͕̜͉̞̜̺̙̯͙̖̹̞̳̹̥̟̦̇̉́̓͒́͗̈́̏̃̉̿̉̓̽͌̐̈́̋̇̈́́̓͋̿̓̔̕͜͜͝͝ͅͅť̷̨̨͙̖̲̲͔͚͍̟͇͖̼̘͇̲͉͓̰̬̪͖̝̹̩͈͚̥̻̰͖͓̮̖̭͔̻̬̄͊̂̓̋͊͛̂̒͊͛͗̈̉̇̉̓̂̌͋̾̋̅̉͆͛̈́̕̕͝ͅ ̵̧̧̧̡̛̬̺͙̤̹͍̲̘̳͔̼̪̍̐̒͊̄̽̉͛̇̆̃̊͗̏̾͂̆̽͌̓͛̍̒̏̈́̀̈́͛̾̕̕͠͝w̶̨̨̧̢̨̬̟̠̝͕̜̥̼͙̯͚̬̘̙͉̭͕̞͈̜̩̰͙͓̟̥̳̦̥̺̦̜̰̭͋͐̅̀͜͜͜͜͜ą̶̢͖̲̦̮̬̱͈̯̬̞̞̞̝̯̝̫̪̞̲͚̘̒͜n̸̢̡̢̧̺̜͎̤̟̭̤͓̝͚͉̝͕̥̪̳̠̣͎̦̯͔̟̮̩̳̤̳͕̠̗̗̦͕̈́́̈̎̿̄̒͜t̴̡̧̩̩̟̯̜̦̬̮͚̗̲͍̪̰͕͚̂̐̔͛͒͒͠ ̵̛̛͓͙̪̽͐̒̏̌̋͂̾̊̽͌͆͘̕͝͠ţ̷̢̡̻͈̜͓̫̼̙̰̪͚̭̮̖̞̩͉̩͙̮̦̞͙̥̭̹̹̯̹͓̬̮͓̰̦̝̘̀̂̽͒̈́͒̂̒̄̔͊̕̕̚͜͜͜ͅͅo̸̡̧̭̺͖͎͉̩̰͚̱̹̗̖̘͕̟̖̪̖̫̩͖̹͉͔͉̫͚̹̅̂͛̀̓̆̆̑̔̍̈́̂̚ͅ ̸̨̛̪͕̥̼͕̜̳̹̖̰̝͙͙̠̲̣͔̳̰̱͕̣͓̅̅̂̐̇͌̾̏̚͜d̵̨̖͚̟̤̳͔͇̑̄̇̍̌̇̒͆̍̓͆̅̊̒͋̆͠͠͝į̷̧̛̘̤̼̱̩̙̤̩̘͙̪̩̪͇̏͒̂͒̿̄̆̒̔̄̉́̓̓̒̅͑͗́͊̓̋͂͑̐̓͌̽̔̐̍̕͘̕͜͜͝͠͝͠ȩ̵͎̫͎̭̻̥͚̺̜̟͕̮̖͖̫̭͚̣̹̖̲̠̲̣̼̹͇̼͔̰͖̣̌̏̆̈́̈́̈̂̿̐̔̐̒͆͐̇̏͊̓̈́̍̇̎̋̎̏̎̔̂̈́͑͑̕̚͘͝͠͝͠ͅ!̸̧̨̨̡̨̨̨̢̟̣̳̰̳͈̖̙͉͚̬̣̳̫͇͉̮͙̺͚͚͉̬͔̬̖̖̪̪̪̺̖̀́̾̽̿͆͗̄̄̿̇͌̏̃̇̈́̅̀̅̆̇̂̌̓͛͐̈́̂͛͆̽͘͠

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


W̷̡̙̬̤̱͍̪̱̙̟̬͖͈͚̩͕͉̠̬̺̞͔̖̼̬̬͓͚̹͌̌͗̌̈́̀̓͝H̶̡̟̗̯̩̹̘̲̰͆͊͑̍̉̆̔̈͛͂̄̀̍̏̐̍̈́͊͑͗͌͑͐̉̽̉̅̋̐̿̇̿̃̄͌̀̕͘̚̚̚̕͠͝͝͝͝Y̶̡̡̢̧̨̡̛̛̗͈̫̣͍̬̮̥͈͕̹̺̯̳̯̱̠͖̼̟̰͉̝̺͖̱̻̘͉̬̥̞͔͔̮̮͍̦̖̯͖͙̱̒̆͛̐̍̒͒͑̋̀̏͗̑̎̈́̃̽̓́̏̏̍̄̂̅̋̈́̓̌̑̀̑̅̊̎͂̒̃̈́͌̏́͊͂͆̈́̏͛̉̾̊̇̈́́̀́̿́͑̈́͘̕̕̕͘͘̕͘͘̚͘̕͜͜͠͠͝͠ͅ

  
  
  
  


I̵̢̡̧̧̛̠̜̭͎̞͉͚͙̖̣̟͇͔̖̝̣̗̥̰͚̲̪͙̙̞̩̱̖̪͓̜̣̻̮̱͎̺̯͔͍͙̺̟͓̗̙̭͉̩͉͉̙̮͖̲̳̫͙̥̳̺̘͎͎̟̯͔͉̳̳̲͓̫͍̥̝̣̗͍̼̗̎̉̄̏̍͐́̇̀̑̎̊͆̅̚͜͝Ş̸̡̜͔̣̘͙̹͓̘̰̠̼͚͈̪̻͕̠̞͚̦̳̹͖̣̥̯̣̜̝̹͇̗̌͋͛͂̂̂̅̈́̔͒̿̄̑̀̈́̈́̿͆̅̀͘͘̕͜

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


T̸̛̛̹̯̒̐̍̂̒͒̉̆̌̔͐͋̍̃̉̄̑͌̆̈́̌̕̕̕͝H̴̢̡̧̡̖͔̠̤̠̰͙̱̙̭͉̖̮͉̗͙̥̯͕̥̜̼̪̲̖̦̠͇̼̪̤̮̱̰̠͇͕͍̋́̔̽̀̾̈̉̈́̌̉̏͑̋̔̎̿̽͛͑̈́̋͒́̓̾̈́̒̅̔͊̿̊̇͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅI̸̧̨̡̡̨̨̢͎̪̝̞̮̪͓̖̩̭̳͚̝̰͇̖̺̗̖̥̻̰͖̮̼̺̠̹̺͓̳̘͙̹̺̭̼͍̘̽͜͠ͅS̴̤̖̻̘̞͉̉͋̈́͂͋͂͑̏̆̅̈́̂͐̽͊͒͒̏͗̉͂̕̕̚͝͝͠

  
  
  
  
  
  


Ḩ̶̢̨̛̱̲̦͉͕̠̼̝̣̺͓̠̜̮͙̳̺̮̦̳̤̩̝͕̤͉̳̑̈́̓͒͂͑͊̅̈̐͂͑̏̏̎̓̈̓̏̉͗̍̏̎́̈́̀͑͌̓̄̓̃̽̈͗̚͘͜͠͝͝͠A̸̧̢̮̱͚̻͕͓͈̳̻̝͇̺̞͙̩̖̳̝̱̣͉̺̭̝͈̲̪̬̙̹̣̬̝͇̙̲̪͓͕͍̱̬̭̖̣͓͊̈́̓͐͂̍̍̓̃͆̒̿͌̅̑̑̋̎̄́͑̔̔̋̄͗̋͊͐̄̐̊̆̈́̾̊̇͑̚̕̚̕͜͜͝͝͠ͅͅP̴̨̨̧̱͍̹͔̺̥̱̻̤̬̪̥̖͓͉̟̘͕̖̮͔͚̠̯̙̳͍̯͓͎̳͔̟̙̫̞͓̞̜̏̇̑͛̽͐̓̇͂̔̃͌͐̅̈́̋͌̈̉̀̿͊̆̋̑̓̽̋͐͆̂͘͘̚͘̕͜͝͠ͅP̴̧̢̧̧̨̻̹̳̺̱͍̩͍̲̠͖̬̙͈͓̬̘͖͕͓͔̰̫̺̤̞͓̱̬͇̜͚̼̞̰̻̪͖̫̭͍͔̖̪̬̰̊̀̉̐̀̐͜͜͜ͅͅȨ̶̨̨̡̨̺̯̖͍̼̬̪̥͕̥̰̞͔̜̭͖̹̻̩̣͉̳̯̖̟͕̖̲͉̖̖̟̘̯̞̖̙͚̟̠̜͍̩̠̟̞̻̓̈́̽͛̑̒̓̄͆̀̒̒̚͘̚͜͠ͅͅͅN̸̡̨̛̛̛͔̗͍̝̺͕̬̦̮̮̼͕͉̬͓̫̠̺̹̯̗̩͇͚͙̮̣̩̩͔͙̪͎͓̳̝͔͙̘͉̟̪̝̎̊͂̆͑̇̿̓̋̀̽͒͂̔͒̑̌̆͌̿̍͑̓̓̉̄́͋̾̅̈́̑̕̕̕̚͘͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͠ͅĬ̸̢̧̛̛̥̬̗̙͓̫̟̣̮̅̌͒͐͆̽̓̈̌̂̑̇̉͌͋̅̇̿͌̓͑̂̐̽̑̇̉̂͒̔̋́́͒̅̆̂́̾̋͐̋̽̊̉̆̚͠͝͠͝N̶̨̢̨̢̧̯̣̠͙̞̣̱̦͇͕͔̭̟̻̲͎͈̳̩͚̞̖̖͎̦̟̱̠͖͔̳͒́͋͌̅̓̕̕͜ͅG̶̤͔͔̤̖̣̟̲̳͆̑̏̄̔̈́̃̏̋̌̾̈́̓̄͑̂̅̇̈́͒͋͛̑̑̅̈́̒̔̋̎͒͊̋̇͊͋͘͘͘͝͝

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

***

Jon woke up in the arms of his husband. After such a long day like yesterday’s, it was nice to just have a late morning to relax.

Jon glanced out the window and saw the mail carrier down below. Xe was walking away from the house, probably having just delivered something. Jon smiled a bit. Xe had always been particularly nice.

Jon tucked Martin’s arm around himself just a bit more, smiled, and closed his eyes again. He could sleep in a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter was just me being self indulgent.
> 
> Actually? Scratch that. This entire FIC is just me being self indulgent.
> 
> Also, the strange pipe murderer turned mail carrier is called Xea. The name actually came before the pronouns. I went with the enby naming convention of just slamming any three letters together, and then I thought "hey, wouldn't it be funny if I went with the pronouns that sounded like that name?" :) I love xem. Xe's terrible and I love xem. <3 I was originally gonna have xem murder Jon with an axe, but 1) extended sounds of brutal pipe murder, and (more importantly) 2) the axe would've been way too gross--especially for me.


	3. Something is Rotten in the State of England

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is excited about his raise.
> 
> Where are all the people?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martin is fat. He is also stronk, but not visibly so. Why? … because I have a type and that type is “Could Lift Me” and Mr Martin Blackwood Please Return My Calls. Look, I’m a simp for Martin, alright? There’s a reason so much of this is Jon being pampered. It’s ~projection~.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Biting into plastic and a bit of blood. Very non-descriptive.

6 O’Clock, on the dot, Jon swung the door open. “Honey~! I’m home!” Maybe it was a bit cliche, but he was unusually happy today, and he wanted to spend time with his most dearest darling husband. Could you blame him?

Martin had finished setting the table, as per usual. (Jon could never get enough of Martin's cooking, and he could never thank Martin enough _for_ his cooking.) “Glad to see you home _on time_ tonight.”

Jon rolled his eyes as he made his way over to give Martin a kiss on the cheek. And then he wrapped his arms around Martin and attempted to dip his husband for neck kisses. _Unfortunately_ , Jon often underestimated Martin’s _size_ relative to his own.

“Someone’s happy~” Martin then wrapped his arms around Jon, nearly engulfing his back in the process, and swung Jon down. He then began placing kisses along their neck. He knew they were ticklish there. He _loved_ knowing they were ticklish there.

Jon had to grip onto Martin’s bak for dear life as he started laughing. “MAHTIN!” Yet more laughing. “I CAN’T BREATHE!”

Martin finally gave Jon a merciful break and pulled him up for a real kiss. This was it. This was bliss. There was a time not too long ago when Jon didn’t think he could ever _be_ this happy. And yet, here they were. Regrettably, Martin did eventually pull away from the kiss. “So?” He tilted their chin up, and Jon melted. “Mind telling me what’s got you in such a good mood?”

Jon grinned. “I got a promotion.”

Martin’s face lit up. “That’s incredible!”

Jon let out an “EEP” as Martin lifted him into the air and laughed as Martin swung him around. And another kiss before Martin put him down. Wow, Jon really was in love, huh? They couldn’t stop grinning.

“Now, _you_ need to eat. I’m _assuming_ you ate your lunch today?” The tone suggested Martin _didn’t_ assume that, but was rather _saying Jon should have_.

  
“Ah. Uh… No, sorry.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Well, then you’re eating that _with_ your dinner.” Jon tried to protest, but Martin silenced them with a finger to their lips. (He was so gentle in everything, and Jon was about to melt into a puddle of happiness.) “I won’t have my husband starving tonight.” They always adored when Martin called them his “husband”.

Suddenly, Martin scooped Jon up into his arms bridal style to plop him in a chair. (Wow, he was big and strong. Had Jon mentioned he was madly in love, yet?)

Jon leaned up to give Martin a kiss on the cheek. Martin sat down next to him.

Jon cut his pork. Jon took a bite of his pork. Jon’s mouth bled. Jon dropped his fork and started picking plastic-- _plastic?!_ \-- out of his mouth. There wasn’t a lot, but it still _hurt_.

“JON?!” Martin reached out to hold his arm. “Jon, _talk to me_.”

With one final wince, Jon pulled out the last piece of plastic. It wasn’t like his injuries were _bad_ , but that didn’t stop them from _hurting._ “Mahtin… You, uh… Mind telling me why the food is made of plastic?”

Martin gave him a puzzled look. “It’s… Food? I cooked it myself. Look” Martin went to cut into his own food, but… it gave the same… odd… resistance. “What?” Martin grabbed his pork. “How is it plastic?!”  
  
Jon grabbed their cup. He tilted it upside down. The wine didn’t come out. “The wine is solid.”

Martin got up and went to the fridge. “Jon.” He… Well… He _lifted_ the fridge. “THE FRIDGE IS CARDBOARD! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

Jon moved over to one of the open window and reached his hand out. Paper. “Mahtin…” He punched. There was just a white void. “I don’t…” Jon ran to the door and swung it open. **There was just. A white. Void.** “MAHTIN, THE NEIGHBORHOOD IS FAKE!”

Martin started hyperventilating.

  
Jon started hyperventilating.

Jon backed up into Martin’s chest.

Martin wrapped his arms around Jon.

T̴h̷e̸ ̴n̷e̷i̴g̷h̵b̵o̴r̵h̶o̷o̵d̴ ̸i̶s̶ ̷f̸a̶k̷e̸.̵

T̶̘̺̳͂̂̄͑h̵̙͋ē̴͓̭̗̂ ̷̨̖̲͎̌͝o̸͍̱̲̱͗u̸͔̟͐t̶̨͎͍̋s̷̘̝̿̄̋͑ͅì̶͖͙̻d̶̢̠̺͖͛͊́͌e̷͈̅̊̚ ̴̼̬̿i̵̡̗̼̔̐͘͜s̷̤̖͖̱͊̌̽͠ ̶̖͊͆͠a̸̲̫̭̕ ̵͔̼̗͋̊̔͝v̴̠̠͌̃̔͘o̷̩̙̊̉̾̏i̵̘̅̇d̶̥̤̠͌̒.̵̫̬͙̥̋̚͠

  
  


N̸͉̖͖͕̰̈́̿̔̈́̈́́̚͜ͅo̶̲̞͐̀t̴̡̗͍̯̹͎̬̎̒ͅh̷̡̞̮̭̘̆i̸̧̪͙̟̯̿̽́͊͘n̸̺̥͚͈͖̭̝̄̓g̷̨͎̔̂̒ ̸͚̮̥̮̼̬̮̔̀́̍͛i̵̤͉͙̣̖̻̾͊͋̇ͅș̷͙̭̤́̊̄̅͒͜͝ ̶̛̟̰̩̜̬̼̖̙̒͗̄͝r̴̖̺̼͖͉̺͋̽̍ȩ̵̟̱͓͎̠̉̔͂͜a̸̗̹̔ļ̵̪͎̤͉͐̈͝ͅͅ.̵̥̠̬͑

  
  
  


W̶̢̻̰͇͉̥̝̼̬͖̬̰͙̮̹̤̿ḩ̴̰̥̫̘͔͍̺̯̘̻̟̀͑̈́̚y̷̖̥̝̞̱̝͇̝̏̔̓̅̃̾̑̈́̏̍͒͗͐̃̄ ̷̨̢̡̫̦̩̻͎̞̼̫̝̳̀̇͐̊͊̈́̌̏ï̶̡̞̭̮̱͓̺͔̩͗̚ṣ̷̨̻̖̯͍̻͖͍̅̆̽̈͐̎̑̿͑̊̇̇̕͝͠ ̷̡̘̞̙͉͚͍͉̠̩́̂͑̈̍͑̉̈́̊́͘͜ͅǹ̷̤͍͙̠̼̺̩̟̰̫̠ͅo̴̤̞͓̱̙͔͉̝̜̹̍͊̽͆̊͛͜ͅt̴͖̭̥͙͇͉͕̹̮̤͒̃́̒̆͂̈́̓͑͗̐̄ͅh̴̠̺̙͙̥̗͖̞̆̒͗̿̏̈̐̒̈͒͗̚̕͘ḯ̶̡͓͖͇͎͙̒̄͑̿́̎̈́̏͊̃̽͊͌̕̚ň̷̢̼̙̹̫̮̳̪̐͒̏̿͑̆͂̈́͛̃͘͝ģ̴̧̢̨̰͈̰͉͔͐ ̴̢̼̖̞̩̺̣̘̥̻̼̘͍̻͑̎̐͐̚r̸̟̲̓̈́̓̒̌̓̂͊͗̉͝ĕ̸̢̛͚͍͔͚̬̺͚̺̩̎̏͒̆͊̊̈͜a̴̡̧̢̨̧̹̜̠̩̹̤͍̺͒̏̆͌̃̋̑̀͐͗̓͠l̸̨̧̡̨̨͈̗̞̥̯̬̙̆͒́̀͂̃̂͝ͅͅ?̸̜̻̗̮̝̬͍͙͍́̅̐̔̌̇̍ͅ!̶̨̧͍̺̤̳̦͈̤̘͊̇̓̽͒͌͐͗͘

  
  
  
  
  
  


S̸̡̧̟͙͚̝̣͉̠̰̺̹̰̦̠͎͈͖̍̀̔̒̽̊̂́̋̈́̔̋͗̎̄̒̚͜͠Ơ̸̙̯̪̱̞͈̖̩̎̂̓͗̽̾̉̔͌̂͛̔̑̈́͑͑͘̕͝M̷̡̦̗̱̠͎͙͎̩͎̩̬̣̯̣̯̳̖̳̮͈͎̯̾͂͋̃̌̑̒͂̆̿̉́͐̐̚͘͘̕͘͘͜͝E̶̡̢̢̡͈͕̫̞̝̤̝̯̰̞̜̹̮̱̰̼̳͖̠̖̽͊́͝Ǫ̴̰͓̘̭̊̕̚N̵̢̯̰̰̦̹͓̖̭͚͓̝̯̜̹̈́͑̿̏̄͜͜ͅĘ̴̨̛̛̛̣̘̱̭̪͎͔̠̦̦͈̗̣͉̱͉̦̒̏͊͋̈́͋͋̀͐̓̽̾̈́͛̋͐̂̈̂̿͋̏̕ ̴͎͚̗̺̱͇͋̍͊͑̈́͒̇̎̈́̃̊̑͌̄̈́̀͂̉͌̊̑͜͝H̵̢̧̡͎̘̳̞̙͕̖̮̤͔̥̭̲̖̟̞͚̳̪̩̝̔̉̈́̊̈́̽̈́͒́̆̓̎͊̍̒̂̄̏̓͛͗̚͜͝͝E̸̫̺̼̗̝̣̺͙̭͙̖͍̝͚̎͂̂̐́͑͌͑̔̊̔͌L̵̢̧͙̫̘̞͙͍̦̺̖̗͚̦̻̲̩͔̩͖̟͍̩̜̐̽̈́̌͐͆͆̿̍̍̿̅̓͗͘͘͝ͅP̷̡̦̖̰̲̦̳̠̟̩̜̖̳͈͓̺͍̅͐̓͌̋͑̾̓̚̕ͅ ̵̧̨͙̱̜̝̗̩̲̙̬͕̫͖͈̭͔͍̮̭̳̖̇͋͂̆̽̌͌̌̿̆̆̓͐̽̈́̉̀̉͘͜͠͝͠͝͝Ư̷̢̧̨͓̬̳̝̯̼̺̬͔͓̩̱̣̪̫̥̅̿̀̏̐͒͋̆̈́̈́̐͐̈̏̎̽̿̈́̃͋̂̾̕͜͜ͅŜ̷̠̟̼͔͉̱͓̩͉͍̍̐̉͑͗͗͂̈̃͛̾̎͜ ̴̛͖͇̹̦̰̳̖͍̀͗̓̋̀̅̅̏͊̌̊̓̃͆̑͌̇̎̒̿̌͜͠ͅP̴͙͚͉͕̼̗̘̟̫͓͚̄ͅL̷̯͌̎̆̿̿̐̌͝Ḝ̷̗͓͉͕̲̩̝̳̙̘̝̟̙̬̘̣͖̝̥̲͔̠̲̠̂̓́̓̊̃͊̅̈́̓͊̊̌̇͛͌̎̚̚͝͠͝A̶̢̼̥̥̹͚̺̳̿̉̓̌̄͝S̶̜̳͇̙̮̤̟͍̻̫͙̟͙̪̜͇̠̟̘̳̟͂̌Ẹ̶̛͈̱̖͕̩͕͕̇͊̉̒̓͐͂̌̅̿̂̍̓̚̚̕͝!̴̤͈͋

  
  
  
  


* * *

Jon read his book on the porch in Martin’s lap. They were each reading a different book and drinking lemonade together.

Martin waved to Tim and Sasha as they got their mail.

Xea stepped up onto the porch, smiling. “And how are the lovebirds~?” Xe handed them their mail.

Jon put down his book to take it. “Wonderful as always~” Jon gave Martin a kiss on the cheek.

Xea’s eye twitched slightly. Why did xe’s eye twitch? Martin gave them a suspicious once-over. “Well, I’ll leave you to it!” Xe waved and wandered off.

Martin shrugged, just enjoying their time together. After another sip, he put down his lemonade to wrap an arm around Jon and give him another kiss on the neck. Jon started to giggle, and Martin’s heart melted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! I did a continuity!


	4. Tell Me Why You Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin: Jon and Martin reminisce about why they love each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh... Minor blood warning. Like, reeeeaaaally minor. Almost no description. But still, "***" will go before and after the scene with blood.

Jon loved being in Martin’s arms like this, just the two of them in front of the fireplace, both wrapped in blankets. They’d put on some movie, but Jon had long since stopped paying attention to just enjoy the warmth and comfort.

“Mahtin…” Jon leaned up to give Martin a kiss on the cheek. “I love you. So much.”

Martin leaned his forehead into Jon’s shoulder, and Jon felt their heart melt. “I love you too, Jon.” They wouldn’t mind hearing that on loop forever. They just… loved him so much. “Mmmmm Jon?”

  
“Yes, Mahtin?” Jon pulled the blanket up tighter.

“How did you fall in love with me?”

For a moment, Jon sat there and blinked like a fish. “What prompted this?”

“I dunno. I just…” Martin squeezed a little, moving to rest his chin on Jon’s shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about how we met, and it’s not like we started on what you would call  _ good terms _ . So… What did it?”

Jon chuckled a little, leaning back against Martin. “Well…” Jon turned a bit where they were to lean deeper into Martin's warmth. “I don’t think there was really one instance where I  _ fell in love _ , but if I had to pick a turning point where I  _ started _ to…” They hummed in consideration. “I think… I think it was the holiday party.”

Martin gave them an incredulous look. “You hated that.”

“Yes.” Jon let their eyes close. “I had just gotten back from a trip, I was exhausted physically and mentally, and I was barely holding myself together. I think I started having an anxiety attack. And you just…” Jon shrugged. “You just helped. I didn’t even need to say anything, you just…  _ knew what to do. _ ” They opened their eyes to look into Martin’s gorgeous eyes that they loved so much, “And… I think that’s when I started really trusting you. After that… You kept being, well,  _ you _ , and I just… fell in madly in love.”   
  


Martin kissed their nose. “Jon, you’re going to  _ kill _ me if you keep being such a SAP!”

Jon laughed and pushed his face away. “Alright alright. Now are you going to tell me what did it for you, or do we have to wait for hell to freeze over?”

That caused Martin to snort. Jon felt a surge of pride swell in his chest. It always felt good when he made Martin even approach laughter. “Well, okay… This is going to sound stupid. Um…” Martin chuckled a bit at whatever memory he was recalling. Jon couldn’t tell if they were more excited or nervous. “It was actually a few months  _ after _ the holiday party. I remember this because it was spring. I had started  _ really _ considering quitting around that time. Obviously, I didn’t have a backup plan, but since we’re--”

“Yes, Mahtin, I remember.”

“Right. Well, I uh…” Martin chuckled. “Remember how I accidentally let that dog in?”

Yes, they remembered. Jon was terribly afraid of large dogs, and did  _ not _ like being near them. So having one inside the office…

“Well… You jumped up onto your spinny chair… And--” Martin snorted, trying to contain his laughter. “When it put its head on the chair for head pats, you got up and ra--” The word was cut off by a wheeze. “You ran face first into a wall-” Yet more wheezing and laughter.

“Well, now I wish I hadn’t asked you to go.” Jon’s annoyance battled with his absolute adoration upon hearing Martin’s laughter.

Eventually, he did calm down. “That wasn’t… That wasn’t when I  _ fell in love _ , but I did… Well, I did find you  _ very _ attractive at that time. No. The day I fell in love with you was the day I saw you face plant while trying to climb a fence.”

Jon moved to get up.

“NO!” Martin wheezed, squeezing Jon tighter. “Please don’t go! I’m sorry!”

“You  _ sound _ like you’re quite enjoying yourself.”

… Okay, so, Jon was amused. But he was also annoyed, ok? And yeah, okay, he was smiling a bit, but that was just because Martin’s laughter was heavenly!

“Jon, sweetie, you know I love you.”

“Mmmmm…” Jon did lean back. “Yes… I do.”

* * *

***

Jon had been having the most pleasant dream, so he wasn’t quite sure why he was slowly drifting back into consciousness.

There was a very pleasurable weight overtop him. What was that…? HIs eyes had not yet opened. It was… soft… Likely Martin then.

So… what was…

There was something… Sharp. Yes, sharp and painful in his neck.

He felt delirious, as if he had just fainted. Was that just because he was still waking up…?

Jon managed to open one of his eyes. It was so dark…

The weight over his neck finally lifted, and the sharpness was gone, but his neck… stung.

There was something warm on his neck, still. And wet.

Something dark… over him…

Jon closed his eyes tight, then opened again. A bit more adjusted, he could just make out the outline of Martin’s face above him.

Martin’s mouth was dripping…

He had fangs.

Why did Martin have fangs?

  
Why was there blood dripping down his chin?

W̴h̴a̶t̶'̷s̵ ̶w̷r̵o̶n̷g̸ ̷w̴i̵t̷h̷ ̴m̸y̷ ̵h̸u̴s̸b̸a̵n̴d̵?̷

W̵̮͉̄̈́̎̚h̶̠̮̣͍̲͑͐͊ḁ̸̦̈͒ẗ̷̰͖͍̭́'̸̺̤̩̰̃̉́̕͘s̸̤̦͕̥̩̆͗ ̵̪̺̔ḩ̴͈͚͍̬́̒ḁ̵̛̘͙̓̍̿p̴̲͐͝ṗ̷̺͚̫̮͚e̴̮̠͊̔́̍̒ň̵̯̺̱͝i̵͙̎̂̚͠ͅn̶͇̫̲̤̗͂g̶̼̪̿̍?̸̢͕̯̟͂̾̚

  
  


H̸͖͔̮̗̆ẩ̵̛͖̖̪͙͓͇̼͈̈́͐̆͘̕͜͠s̷̪͎͇͉͕̭̬̤̫̰̋͒͒́͌͆̏͋͘͝ͅ ̸̘̰͉͛̉̔̉̒̍̕ṱ̸̨͇̟̱̘͕̩̲̩̜̟̑̄͗̇̓͂ḧ̵̰̣̫͙̦̫́̌̓͝i̵̮̫̔̾̔͠͝s̴̛̬̼͙̑̉̾̋̑̒̽̉̿ ̷͈͙͚̜̟͇̅̿͗̈͑̄̌͂̇̓͝ͅh̶̢̨͙̗̪̹͇̄̏͊͆̑̈́̇̓͋͠ͅa̷͚̤̗͙̥͙̠̠̋͛́̂͊̉̋͘͜ͅp̴͎̣̃̏̔̽͆̀̿̿̕p̶̡͍̹͔͔͛̈̏̃e̶̟̼͎̺̝̙͌̃̔̓̑̽̕͠ͅn̶̨͍͍͛͌̌̍ẻ̵̩͂̍̑̈́̿d̶̫̱̙͉͔̯̥̔̐ ̶̧̰̼̦̜̰̞̱̮̞͋͒̏̉͑̋͛̒̾̈́̏͐b̵̘͈͊e̴̛͓̖̺̒̇͋͆̔̕͠f̴̛̝̄̑̌͆͆̍͂͊̌ǫ̷̦̼̍̋̃̾̒͋̾̽̚ṛ̷͔̹̤͈̯̩̆͘e̵͔͉͕̺̩͓̽͊͂ͅ?̴̢̨̧̲͈̗̼̟̣͈̞͂͂̑̓̂̀͠͠

  
  


***

* * *

Jon woke up, quite content to have Martin on top of him. He loved that pressure… He started running a hand through Martin’s curls.

Martin cracked an eye open a few minutes later. “Love…?”

“Mmmmmm good morning, Mahtin…”

Martin reached up to brush his thumb over the right side of their neck, where his second neck scar was. Or rather, neck scars. Two of them. They, along with the scars wrapping around Jon’s neck, were a mystery to them. But they didn’t care. They didn’t care about the scarred dent in their temple or the dots or permanent bruises on their neck or the scars around Martin’s neck or any of that had come from.

They really only cared that they were with Martin, and they were so happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vampire Martin...? 👉👈


End file.
